Harry Potter and the Sphinx of Sphere
by Avelanna
Summary: WARNING:    The following story may contain wrong grammar and awkward word choices with completely incomprehensible sentences. My only excuse is: I'm a Swede.
1. Chapter 1

THE CRUCIATUS CURSE

On the other side of the working table sat a woman dressed in a black robe with her grey hair combed back into a tightened bun.

"Someone", she said without bidding him welcome, "has come into the habit of sneaking around the castle at night. So I propose that you give me the Invisibility Cloak so I can keep it safe for you until the Christmas holidays. When you take it home and don't bring it back."

He stared at her without ejaculating a word.

"I'm not stupid, Potter", she continued, a bit more fiery. "How could it be in any other way if Filch or even Peeves don't notice it?"

He swallowed nervously. This wasn't what he had expected. His gaze flickered and left her severe face. The walls in the room were decorated in portraits of old headmasters. A man with long white hair and horn-rimmed spectacles caught his attention. The man's mouth seemed to smile amusingly. But his eyes were closed.

"Look at me when I speak to you", Professor McGonagall said sharply and he gave a start. "To sneak around..."

But he didn't listen because he saw a movement in one of the paintings. Black hair that hung in greasy wisps down a sallow face. The eyes over the aquiline nose stared back at him.

"Potter", the headmistress said with the same sharpness, but he couldn't tear his eyes of the man. On the painting next to him, Dumbledore opened his astoundingly blue eyes and looked as if he was about to say something. But Snape overtook.

"Potter", he said drawling which made Professor McGonagall turn around in the straight-backed chair. Snape's lips curled into a scornful smile. "Exactly like your father, he used to strut about..."

"My father didn't strut!" Without noticing it, he had risen from his chair so quickly that it now fell to the floor. He glared back at the man in front of him, and the sudden anger disappeared. "He named me after you. After you and Professor Dumbledore. Albus Severus Potter."

Snape's face distorted into something that reminded of nausea and then left the painting. Albus breathed out and once again sat down in the chair, which Professor McGonagall had risen with her wand. He didn't apologize but looked down at the tabletop. He couldn't induce himself to meet Dumbledore's eyes. If his father found out how he had treated Professor Snape, what would he do then? It was bad enough as it, without him having to behave rudely in front of Professor Dumbledore.

"To sneak around", Professor McGonagall continued, as if nothing had happened, "is..."

"Sometimes absolutely necessary", Dumbledore concluded.

Albus took the liberty to smile. "And why is that, Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore responded to his smile, and question, with a gentle nod towards McGonall. Albus turned his gaze to her, and found that her severe face had become even more serious.

"I can't see how that could be", she said, and folded her hands in her lap.

Albus decided that he had to take the chance.

"I know the rules, Professor, and I'm not asking you to make any exceptions..."

"There's no rules without exceptions."

He continued, as if he hadn't heard Dumbledore. "But maybe, if you hear the reason..."

"Potter, I am not interested in any of your excuses. You have been unveiled, and must take the consequences."

He struggled against the will to not obey her. "How can you say it was me, and not someone else?"

That seemed to be the logical question she had waited for, because she nodded slowly. "I wasn't. Not until now, when you unmasked yourself."

He swallowed. How could he have been so stupid?

"Professor, how can you know that anyone has been sneaking around?"

"Small noises from the Restricted Section. Now, Potter, do I think we're done. I take ten points from Gryffindor, and if you're walking around the castle at night one more time I'll have to call your parents. Go to Professor Longbottom the first thing you do tomorrow, and give him the cloak. Good afternoon, Mr Potter."

When Albus caught up with Rose in the corridor outside the classroom, she saw that his cheeks glowed.

"I've been gormless", he exclaimed, but quietly, "Professor McGonagall know I've been in the Restricted section without permission."

Rose felt as if he had poured out a bucket with cold water over her. "What did she say?" she whispered as they sat down near the rostrum.

He quickly told her what had happened, including his meeting with Snape and Dumbledore in the paintings, and ended the retelling with the desperate question: "What do we do now?"

She frowned. "It's obvious. You give the Cloak to them and we don't leave our beds anymore at night. Oh, you're sure she doesn't know that I've been with you? I hope this doesn't affect the grades..."

"Oh, this is poetic justice", he whispered back. "I'm punished because I try to help... It's easy for you to say that we'll just stop, but we haven't found anything and if you haven't forgotten, this can be important -"

"Mr Potter, may I remind you that the lesson has started?" Their professor, new for this school year, had been irritated on Al since the term started. He had proved her wrong during one of her lessons and since that it was as if she had to reprove him as soon as she could, or else she'd not feel respected by the other students.

"I'm sorry, Professor Bulstrode."

He'd heard that she'd been in Slytherin in the same form as his dad. However, she seemed to be much older than him, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. When Rose had told her dad that Bulstrode was their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, he had asked if this professor's first name happened to be Millicent. When she said yes, he'd laughed and asked if she was as pretty as she'd been over twenty years ago. Albus hadn't understood what was so fun about it, she surely wasn't plushy, but she was way better than the professor they'd had last year, or the one the year before... For this class, she was actually a quite good teacher. Still, he was sure she wouldn't stay until the next year. She told them weekly that they weren't worth her time.

However, her lessons were confusing. She had a bad habit of speaking mealy-mouthed when telling the simplest facts. More than once, the students had had to guess what she meant, and her tests weren't better. What Albus had learned during this term, had he learned by reading the book, not listening by her. And she taught them more about how to avoid dangers, than how they'd practically should do when facing some sort of Dark Art.

Albus left the classroom with Rose and one of her friends, a blonde girl named Adriana Boot. Rose and Adriana talked about what they wanted to do during the Christmas holiday, while Albus tried to figure out what do to with the problem Professor McGonagall had given him. Which teacher could he ask for a signature from, so he'd be allowed to search the library? No one, really. So there was only one thing left to do. To use to Cloak as much as he could until he had to hand it over to Professor Longbottom. Maybe he would find something he and Rose hadn't noticed before... He wouldn't tell her, because she'd only be worried and try to stop him from breaking the rules. He had to do this, and if she wasn't going to help him, if she cared more about her grades than of him, well, then he'd do this without her. It wasn't that he liked to sneak behind her back, and maybe be pushed to lie to her about it. It was just that this was too important for him to give up.

Hannah Longbottom laughed a little bit too loud at his joke, so loud that James reacted with an embarrassed smile. Roxanne met Lucy's eyes which resulted in both of them guffawing. Hannah abruptly became silent when she noticed James grimace, and blushingly turned and run down the corridor.

"Enjoying yourselves?"

Roxanne slowly turned around in the thought the voice was a teacher's. Instead she found herself standing face to face with the palest boy she had ever seen. The young man's eyebrows were raised and his mouth half-open. When no one answered him, he continued with the same light voice:

"You shouldn't do like that, you know. Not just because her father is a Professor."

'"And you are - ?" James managed to sound bored and amused at the same time: an intonation which made most people unsure. This boy, however, didn't stutter at all when he exclaimed:

"You're Harry Potter's oldest son." The change his face went through was astounding. A glimpse of … Lucy would have said "fear" but could that be? All reproach had vanished from his pallid eyes, and he stepped back, as if the discovery affected him physically.

"I know whose son I am", James said angrily, dangerous near the point when he would lose his temper.

"He didn't ask you who _he_ is, nitwit." Lucy leaned closer to the stranger. "He asked you who _you _are." While Lucy had spoken, the boy had dropped his eyes to the floor, and now his gaze flickered. He opened his mouth, but not a word left his lips.

Roxanne never heard the footsteps this time either but suddenly James' best friend Quincey had his arms around her waist. "Shame on you", he said and smiled archly. "Don't you see what that is?" He released his hold of Roxanne and wrinkled his noise. Then he slowly approached the boy, sniffing. James gave a short laugh which his friend returned with a wide grin. Lucy seemed confused until Roxanne chose to fall into her normal part in their games.

"Sly thing", she whispered theatrically.

"On the sly, he does many dirty things", Lucy continued, not too ingenious. Quincey smirked when the boy took another step back.

"I'm not in Slytherin." It almost sounded like a question.

"Your name", James repeated.

The answer came in a whisper. "Lorcan Noble."

"Noble? Are you noble? Are you a noble? Are -"

"Oh, shut up Lu, will you!" James lowered his voice and spoke only to Lorcan when his friend had understood his signal and brought Roxanne and Lucy down the corridor. "Are you Luna Lovegood's son?"

He nodded, still cautious.

"In which house?"

"Ravenclaw. I began in the middle of this term because mum and dad travel a lot, so I've been to a lot of schools. But mostly I've studied alone at home. Or not home, I mean, when you're on the roads every place you come to is like your home." He took a deep breath and lifted his head. His eyes almost looked white when they looked fixedly at him. When he spoke once again, his voice was clearer. "I'm sorry but I really can't stand when people make fun of others, just because that satisfies their stuck-up egos."

He had to admire him for his courage, notwithstanding that it at the same time irritated him that he didn't respect him more. He didn't even seem to regret his last words. His skin, a colour between milk and mother-of-pearl, did such a powerful contrast to his loud trinkets and black garment. James took a closer look at the strange boy. He was fade without being wan. His hair, long and curly, had the same colour as Dumbledore's on the photos he had seen, but much more shiny. Indeed his mother's son, according to his parents' descriptions.

"And now your parents are in Britain?" he asked as he began to walk. Lorcan fell into his steps as he led their way through the corridor.

"Yes. They're visiting my grandfather." When the strange boy didn't say anything more, James tried in a different angle.

"And you plan to graduate here?"

Lorcan wrinkled his noise, and looked at James from the corner of his eyes. "Yes."

They walked down the corridor in silence until Lorcan abruptly announced that he had to hurry to his lesson and ran away in the other direction. James stared at him before continuing to the Great Hall.

"Obtrusive boy, that one", Lucy declared during the noon meal.

"He'll learn soon enough." Quincey emphasized his words by raising his hand to Roxanne's hair.

James thoughts wandered, as always in these awkward situations, to Naomi. If anyone ever figured out what he felt for her, he'd be destroyed. It was Roxanne saying Naomi's last name, Hart, that drew him back to the reality.

"That cheap bitch", Roxanne exclaimed with disdain. "She's together with Wardle now."

It was Quincy's turn to stiffen, in his case because of Wardle's name. "That fawning, namby-pamby…"

"You know what, guys? Sometimes I wonder if the old hat didn't make four big mistakes when he sorted us. It's totally clear that we all belong to Slytherin, so slithering as we are." He left the table without having touched his meat loaf.

Oh! Even if he dared to speak with her, his friends would repudiate him. Despite him. But why did he care about that? He was worried about something much bigger, something much more important. The fact that he never could let his family down. Not more then he already had. But she, Naomi, had never looked at him, so he didn't have to worry. In fact, nothing would ever happen, so his behavior was exaggerated.

"Oh, just look. Potter's pottering around. Alone."

"So are you, Scabious."

And to James' defense we have to admit that Wardle drew his wand first.

"You're in my way, Potter." He smiled scornfully. "And your master, why isn't he here? Didn't think pooches left their owners. Bad cur."

James rolled his eyes. He had difficulties with keeping back the laughter. Secretly, he now thanked Lorcan, because he had just taught him something important. He had immediately found one of his sore points. And he should make use of that new skill.

"Heard about your new hussy, Scabby." He didn't recognize his own voice. Could he sound so cold and callous? "How long has she been unfaithful to you?"

Wardle's wand flicked quickly, but James was prepared and parried the unspoken spell. In the next moment, James had cried out a spell which Wardle easily had avoided. James heard shouting and hurrying steps. He saw Quincy try to get through the mob, and some of Wardle's friends do the same, but right now they were too far away. He still had some time.

"Appetite her, do you?" Wardle's face was white with fury.

"As a dog, I see her as a pretty good piece of flesh."

Wardle did a lunge towards James with a roar. The mob was so close that he hadn't any escape route.

"_Serpensortia_! See if you handle this better than your daddy did."

He just stared at the snake. Of course he had heard this story, as so many others, but what had his father done to get rid of the animal? Talked to it. What he knew, he couldn't talk parsel. When his father was in this situation, a teacher had helped him out of the mess.

"_Impedimenta_!" The snake tossed and slowly turned in the air before it hit the floor and once again coiled towards him. Stupid. Couldn't he do better?

"Send a friend to beat me, do you, Scabby? Afraid to meet me by yourself?" The snake was very close now, so close that he could see its fluttering tongue.

"_Incendio_!" The snake immediately caught fire and disappeared in a granular smoke. Quincy finally stood by his side, screaming at Wardle: "Just what to expect from you. A snake, your -"

"_Serpensortia_! _Geminio_!" The new one duplicated itself into dozens of snakes. The students elbowed each other to get away from the animals, which left a space for James so he could move.

"_Evansco_!" James desperately cried and stiffened. In slow motion, he saw Wardle cast a spell over Quincy, and tried to ward it off, but didn't have the time.

"_Crucio_!" Quincy's voice rang in his ears while Wardle's body winced. First, he thought that the spell hadn't worked – that Quincy hadn't really meant what he had said. Then, Wardle started to shake. His face contorted and the sinews in his neck stood out. His eyes rolled when he fell to the floor, stiff, with foam lathering down his chin.

"No! Make it stop!" Naomi's heartbreaking scream was heard above the terrified shrieks. She tried to break through, but someone held her back. James felt as if he was in a fog. He knew what was going on, but couldn't see anything clear. Then, like a candle-flame dies, Wardle became still, and the fog lifted. Crying and murmuring. And Naomi, beating him furiously.

"You just stood there, your devil!" Her voice broke when she fell to her knees. She brushed Wardle's greasy hair from his forehead. Dully, James turned around to find out why Naomi had attacked him instead of Quincy. He was gone. Then Lucy stood by his side, pulling his sleeve.

"Come, James, come. You'd better go no, reporting to the headmistress. Someone took Quincy to the wards, don't worry."

"But … Wardle?" He shivered.

"It's the chock making this to you", she explained, still pulling his sleeve. "He'll get help, I saw the pale boy running away. Come now." She led him upstairs, uninterruptedly talking. "Now I was right about that Naomi-rabble as well. Why didn't she run for help, hum?"

James didn't answer. He had plenty to do trying to not stumble. He felt dizzy.

"Christmas holidays in two days. Glad to come home, aren't you?"

He still didn't answer. Lucy left him at the staircase, promising she would wait until he came back. He raised his hand to knock, but the door swung open before his hand touched the door. He stepped inside, still unsure if it all was a bad dream.

"Mr Potter", the headmistress greeted. "Your parents will be here any minute."

He struggled to think of what she had said. "Why?" he managed to ask.

"You are our chief witness and I thought it best they'd come. You're in chock."

At that very moment his parents closed the door behind them and walked to the desk. They looked faint. She worried and he resolute.

"Are you all right?" his mother asked. He just shook his head, incapable to meet her eyes or answer her. His father whispered something to her, but James couldn't hear the words.

"James", he said, coming closer. "James, I -"

"James! I've always tried to be like your father! That's what you wanted, why did you name me after him otherwise. Al is so much like you, everyone says so. And they also points out that Lily's a mix of mum and our grandmothers. Even Ted makes you smile proudly." He gasped for air, but did not hesitate. "But what about me? I'm sure you understand what expectations people have on me. Every bloody friend of you and mum is famous – been a member of D.A. and fought in the Battle of Hogwarts." He gazed into the headmistress' face and to Harry's fright. A cold laughter slipped over his lips. "When the Chosen One writes to his first-born, he asks how Hagrid's old pumpkins are doing and if Professor Longbottom has got his invitation for the holidays -"

"I'm sure he..." Professor McGonagall interrupted abruptly.

"Knew about it? He's spying on me, that's what you're saying?"

The silence that followed his son's accusations scratched Harry's ears in a way James' outbursts of rage never had done before. Ginny squeezed his hand so firmly that he nearly panted. He desperately tried to figure out something to say, but his head was empty. Finally Professor McGonagall spoke, with professional words as always, but in a voice that almost sounded sentimental. She fixed her eyes on James.

"Mr Potter, please leave your family businesses outside this matter. Your friend, Mr. Bowmaker, has, inside the walls of _my _school, used one of the forbidden curses, the Cruciatus curse, on a schoolmate. Mr. Potter, please tell us what happened."

"What if I had made it? Would my father's name have saved me then? Quincy hasn't that privilege." James voice was full of grief. "You know what? I'm faithful to my friends. When he's expelled I'll stand by his side."

"James, no! You don't know what you're saying."

"Mrs. Potter, please calm down! No one has said anything about expelling Mr Potter." McGonagall cleared her throat and opened the massive door with a flick of her wand. The witnesses entered, and even in this grave situation they all stared at Harry.

A short boy informed that the Slytherin-boy had started, but first James had insulted his girlfriend.

"Insulted?" Professor McGonagall asked the chubby boy, but he just shook his head. In fear of James, Harry suspected.

"They dueled, but totally harmless until Quincey came." He looked familiar, but Harry didn't care to think about that now. "Scabiour conjured up a snake which James -"

"He did what?" Harry turned to his son. "What did you do? Snape, eh Professor Snape, when Lockhart couldn't get rid of it... Did you try to -?"

"Mr Potter", McGonagall said sharply, and he got aware of everyone looking at him, some almost miserly. James and Ginny smiled, and for a second, Harry thought his son should come back to his sensitives. But when he noticed his father's gaze, James' smile faded.

McGonagall sighed and turned to ask the girl to continue when the door swung open and a tall, dark-skinned girl strode toward them. Black tresses had come loose from her bun and her cheeks were wet with tears. Harry saw the mask disappear from his son's face and how he nervously licked his lips.

"Excuse me, Professor McGonagall. Mr and Mrs Potter", she said tremulously and then, so fast that no one reached to prevent her, she cuffed James. In a moment Ginny stood between them, her back at James and her wand raised. James didn't move, nor raised his hand to his blotchy cheek.

"Only Muggles use their fists", Ginny hissed.

"And Hermione", Harry heard himself say. He hadn't tried to be funny, but Ginny lowered her wand, reminded that it was a child she threatened.

"But Malfoy deserved it", she objected.

The students gawped and McGonagall hawked. "This is an interrogation", she said at the same time as Naomi exclaimed:"Potter deserves it! He just stood there."

"Everyone one did", Harry pointed out. "You and everyone else of the spectators. If you shall beat someone, hit the one responsible for this."

"Potter!"

James stiffened, but then a smile spread over his face when his father muttered: "Sorry professor. Just saying my opinion."

"As always, I'm afraid. But you're right." McGonagall paused. "Mr Potter, you will get detention for dueling in the corridor. Now, all of you are dismissed."

Harry stopped to stare at the empty painting of Dumbledore and turned to leave the room when the door opened once again.

"I've been warned", Ron said loudly when he approached with Hermione, "that my nephew is in charge."

"He hasn't done anything", Ginny quickly informed him.

He halted. "Bloody hell. Did I leave the dessert for – a reunion? Pretty gloomy class party I have to say. Ought to invite Moaning Myrtle when we -"

James laughed and some of the others tittered. Harry wanted to do the same when Ron thumped his back, but couldn't. Cruciatus. A Gryffindor-student had used the Cruciatus. He had foolishly thought nothing like that could happen when Lord Voldemort once and for all was defeated.

Ginny gave a start when Hermione repeated her last words. "Why did you call us Ginny, with the D.A coins, when the only thing happening is James getting detention?"

"I didn't", Ginny said, confused. "I'm not carrying around that coin. And if I did, I wouldn't had used it to get you here."

The pale boy uttered a few words, but so quietly that McGonagall asked him to say them again. "I did", he said and got a dreamy expression over his face. "I wanted to find out if they worked."

"Wanted to find out if they worked?" Ron said skeptically. "They are not toys you know. Give it to me, and say who you stole it from. And how you know how they work." He stretched out his hand to him as he spoke, but the boy didn't move.

"I haven't stolen it", he protested.

"Of course not. Just give it to me."

"Mum gave it to me."

He stopped. "And who is she?"

"Luna Lovegood", Harry, Ginny and Hermione said at the same time. Ron's ears reddened.

"You are dismissed." McGonagall followed the students with her gaze until they had left the room. Lorcan hesitated at the doorstep, but followed the others without saying anything more. Naomi pushed her way through and run down the stairs. James looked after her, and after a look from Ginny, McGonagall let him leave the room as well. She closed the door firmly.

"What will the parents say?" McGonagall asked them and rose from the chair behind the desk.

"They will blame Bowmaker", Hermione sighed. "But that's all."

"I hope James' friend will be all right." Ron looked cautiously at Harry. It reminded him of something – that he, during his sixth year at Hogwarts, nearly had killed Malfoy with a spell from the Half-Blood Prince's book.

"Does he really have to be sent to Azkaban?" Harry asked, disheartened.

McGonagall looked surprised. "Of course, Mr Potter."

Ginny leaned against him and touched his tied fist with her soft fingers. He exhaled and nodded.

"Coming to the Burrow at Christmas Eve?" Ron asked Harry and Ginny, who both nodded. "See you there, then." He and Hermione had almost left the room when something occurred to Harry.

"So why did you get here, if you hadn't the coins in your pockets?"

Hermione smiled for the first time during the meeting. "Well, just in case, I suppose."

Harry brought out a golden piece from his pocket. "Yes. Childishly, isn't it?"

"Indeed", Ginny agreed, and Ron gave a short laugh before he and Hermione left the room.

"Coins?" McGonagall asked tiredly.

Ginny shook her head. "It's a long story, Professor. And we better go now."

"I don't understand", Harry said desperately. "He's trying to be like my father but – why?"

They had left the school area and were going to transfer home. Sleet was falling from the sky and their breaths were steamy.

Ginny gave him a look of deep compassion. "He wants you to be proud of him."

"I am proud of him", he rose fierily.

"I know, love. I'm not saying you aren't."

"Ginny, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"

"It's just that I never have understood how he feels. My own son and I thought... I never thought he had any problems with you being famous."

"Oh, so it's all my fault? You know, I didn't want to be famous, if it -"

"I know. But, well, you could at least have talked to him in there." Ginny took out her wand, clearly showing that the conversation was over.

"Saying what? 'Your friend's going to Azkaban, so Merry Christmas!'?" He bit his tongue, but the damage was already done.

"Don't make fun of me, Harry!" In that moment he understood where James had got his temper from. Ginny's eyes had darkened. "Don't let us fight." She kept her voice calm and had an almost imploring expression. "I'm worried about James, that's all."

"And I'm not, is that what you're saying?"

She stood silent for so long time that he thought she never was going to answer. He had crossed the line.

"I'm sure you're worried", she said at last. "And you ought to talk to him before we have to worry even more."

She was gone before he had time to answer. He didn't transfer immediately, because he doubted she had gone home. She would be away for some hours so they both calmed down. He didn't understand how Ginny could think it was his fault that James' friend had cast the Cruciatus. He didn't understand the anger behind his son's words when he had accused him in front of McGonagall. Of coursed her cared about his son – he loved all his children!

"What have I done?" James buried his face in his hands.

"That's Quincey's line", Roxanne said tonelessly. She had cried until her voice got hoarse, and now seemed to have no strength left. Her hands shook when she raised them to wipe away her tears. "Two Dementors'", she reiterated. "They took him. Oh, James, will I ever see him again?"

He had no answer to give, and yet he had to. Lucy had gone to bed, but he had felt that he couldn't leave Roxanne alone with her sorrow. She had already tried to hurt herself. He wanted to lie to her, say that everything was going to be all right. But she shouldn't believe that, and her words weren't meant as a question.

He lowered his hands. "It's my fault. I should never have provoked Wardle. Then nothing of this had happened."

She shook her head. "That pale boy said the same. But that's no consolation. I envy Scabby's whore. I do" Her voice broke at the last word and she got another fit of crying. James put her head on his shoulder and held her tight, knowing that she, if he didn't, would plunge herself into the wall. "- with murderers and worse. And Dementors stealing every happy memory he has. He'll forget -"

"Hush." He swallowed the words he ought to say. She quivered. "I'll take you to Madame Pomfrey. She'll give you something so you can sleep." Without nightmares.

She didn't resist when he propped her along the stairs and corridors. In fact, they were breaking a rule by walking around at night, but he thought they would be excused if any teacher saw them. And, they were not the ones bothering about rules, especially not now.

When he had left her in the care of the old nurse and was on his way back to the dormitory, where Quincey wouldn't sleep in the bed next to his, he decided to go through the colonnade instead of crossing the green. In the colonnade he would be harder to discover and it was a faster way now when he didn't have to watch out every step in the stairs so Roxanne shouldn't fall.

They hadn't let him say goodbye to his friend. They had kept him in the headmistress' office with his parents while Quincey took his last looks at the world. He remembered the first time they had met: how Quincey had defensed him against the classmate's sneers, the very first school day. Their relationship had been complicated and more than one time had their fights, at least once at week, developed into hostility. But they had always found each other again. He should never forget how his friend had come to his help, making his way through to come to his side. He should never forget the expression on his face when he realized what he had done. The regret and the hatred he felt over himself. He hadn't meant to go so far. He just had wanted to save his friend, not torture the boy. And he should never forget his last words to him: _It's totally clear that we all belong to Slytherin, so slithering as we are. _Despite the hard words, Quincey hadn't hesitated when he came to James' side. And that loyalty, that love, could James never repay. That loyalty had cost Quincey his life.

His feet yielded but he didn't felt the descent. He had caused his best friend his downfall. The remaining painful days, weeks or months of Quincey's life, would he curse James with all his heart? Would he damn the day James came into his life? He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think of anything.

But Naomi came into his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to not think about her. Her big, dark-brown eyes: how she screwed them up when she counted the gauges at the Potion class. She often fingered on her necklace, caressed the snake, holding it inside her hand, close to her heart. And when she did, her eyes wandered, her shoulders lowered. He wasn't obsessed at all.

He should be ashamed. He thought about Naomi when his friend had begun his endless night in Azkaban. He got up and continued to walk along the pavement. In the moonlight the pillars' shadows got shape and face, flickering before his feet. Unnamed prisoners, dying humans, Dementors in fluttering robes.

He had grown up next to a graveyard and probably spent more time around the grave-stones then the cherry in his garden. But this was something else. He could swear Quincey's spirit spoke to him that night. Bidding farewell, not in words but in pictures. It wasn't a ghost, not like the ones floating around the castle. It was more like a presence and yet it hadn't any mind of its own. It was a power, a power that belonged to anything, anywhere and anytime.

"Please, tell me what to do", he begged the wind, feeling like a fool, but sufficient desperate to give it a try. Was he going mad?

Nothing happened. As if it would have, he reproached himself. He slipped through the gate, ran upstairs and whispered the password to the Fat Lady.

"Sneaking around", she complained and yawned, but swung open. "Just as all Potters."

He didn't thought about what she had said until he lay in his bed. He knew his father and grandfather had done it, but _everyone_? Al, his orderly brother, was he out at night? Or Lily, his little sister? He left the warm sheets and asked her what she had meant.

"I'm not a scandalmonger", she said haughtily, but he doubted her words.

"In for a penny, in for a pound."

She sighed. "Well, you are his brother. He's having the invisibility cloak of your grandfather and when he comes back in the mornings he's – No, you have to ask him about it. Don't tell him I said this to you."

He left her without answering. Surely it wasn't anything important.

He never thought he would fall asleep, but when he put his head on the pillow, he did. He dreamt of a voice screaming in the darkness. Calling for him.

He woke before the sunrise, bathing in a cold sweat, to his own scream. For half a second he didn't remember what had happened and leaned towards Quincey's bed to say he was sorry for waking him. The bed was empty. And the memories reached him with a pain that hadn't faded since yesterday. Panic overwhelmed him, forced him to leave his bed. But he stayed in the middle of the floor, staring back at the other ones in the sleep chamber that stared at him with open mouths, without seeing them.

"No", he whimpered, and began to shiver when one of the boys spoke to him.

"Easy, James, it was only a nightmare."

"No", he repeated, suddenly filled with coldness. "NO", he roared, throwing himself at the boy that had spoken, beating him furiously. The other two boys came to their friends rescue, but couldn't drag James from his body, and when their hands touched him did he begin to beat them as well. It didn't matter how much they beat him because he didn't feel any pain expect the emptiness Quincey had left behind. One of them finally succeeded to draw his wand, but didn't know what to do with it. James heard him a moment later, screaming in the common room up the stairs to the girls' dormitories for Lucy to come. She came, and James became still when he heard her voice.

It was like wakening from unconsciousness. He didn't remember what he had done. He murmured an apology when he looked at the boy's bloody face, and then left the rooms with Lucy on his heels. Ashamed.

He had never done anything like that before. And it he wanted his pain to reach someone else, why not someone in Slytherin, or someone responsible for what had happened?

"James, look at me", Lucy begged him, and he obeyed, but without meeting her eyes. "I'm here and I won't leave you. Everything's going to be all right."

He didn't believe her. Of course he didn't! She said these soothing words to calm him but they were all lies. Nothing would ever get better. Quincey, his best friend, was now in Azkaban because of him. Quincey had only tried to protect him, like he always did, and now he had to pay for it. And there was nothing he could do... If it hadn't been for him, Quincey hadn't had to help him from Wardle. If it hadn't been for Naomi...

"James. Look at me." Lucy had made him sit down without him even noticing it, and now she held his wrists firmly. The sorrow he saw in her eyes was more real than anything that he had experienced in months. "We can't freak out, James. Roxanne needs us."

So it was there her feelings laid. With Roxanne and not Quincey. But he nodded and said that he felt better now. She replayed to his goodnight, but only reluctantly.

Well back in the dormitory, he felt the other boys stare at him in the darkness. They probably feared that he had lost his mind just like Quincey.

He wanted them to talk, so he could think of something else than what had happened. But when one of them whispered something to his friend, he immediately wished him to be quiet. Everything reminded him of Quincey. If it had been him, Quincey had turned the whole castle up-side-down by now and demanded them to let him go free. Why didn't he do that? Why didn't he even try? Why had he surrendered even before Quincey's destiny had been settled?

He knew the answer to all these questions as clear as if Quincey had said them to him. He wasn't afraid, he wasn't a coward. It was just that... He had never done anything without his friend. Since the day they came to Hogwarts, they had always been together. He knew what Quincey was thinking without even looking at him. And he could feel Quincey's fear now, Quincey who never was afraid of anything. That fear scared him more than his own would have done. He had destroyed Quincey's life through a silly act of jealousy. He wanted to blame Scabiour or even Naomi or Quincey himself, but he knew that he was responsible.

When the other boys rose the next morning, James sat on the windowsill and stared into the mist. He hadn't only lost his best friend, but himself.


	2. Chapter 2

A WINDOW TO THE PAST

Lily took another chew of the apple just because she wanted to have something to do. The silence was oppressive. Al had left her alone with the adults, taking their cousins Rose and Hugo outside for a snowball fight. She sat in one of the patched armchairs in the living room, chewing on her fifth apple for the morning, wishing she was somewhere else. Ever since Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione had took over the Burrow from her grandparents fifteen years ago, her family spend all their Christmas Eves there. And the tradition dictated that the Potter family at Christmas Day, when they were home again, did something together, just them. Her parents had come up with so wonderful ideas during the years. Three years ago, for example, they had ridden on Testrals. Her parents had been the only ones seeing them, but they had all had hysterically fun. This year, their family day would be just as the yesterday. Strained.  
>She wasn't sure of what had happened. Al had caught up a lot of rumors, but she chose to not believe them but wait until she got the real facts. She didn't dare to ask her parents and no one at school seemed to know. Or, at least, they who did kept silent. Of course it had been the big topic of conversation before the holidays, but it had all been about Wardle at bed, Bowmaker leaving school, and the famous Harry Potter having a secret conversation with the headmistress. And the last subject was the one they speculated most about. Wardle was ill. Great deal. Bowmaker had left school, well, he had time and time again spoken about doing just that. Said he would be fine without all the messy tests. So what was the fuss about that? But Harry Potter at the other hand, some of their parents' classmate, the man they had heard stories about their whole life, that was something interesting. For some hours she had been drowned in questions. Then she had been glad to slip away from all that. Now she thought it to be an easy thing to handle comparatively to this.<br>Her parents sat together, but not as close as they used to. Aunt Hermione flung around the house while Uncle Ron nervously ate cakes. Lily wondered if it was a genetic disease both she and Uncle Ron had. And decided that it was time for her to leave the room.  
>I'll go play with the others , she said though she knew nobody cared. To her surprise her father looked at her for the first time that day. Eh, we were just going to call them in. We're going to... He saught his friend's eyes.<br>Play Wizardry Chess , Uncle Ron twinkled. His sister gave a deep sigh.  
>Her husband stiffened. Their daughter left the room to bring the chessboard downstairs. On her way she attached a small piece of paper to her, Al's and James' owl. Their parent's old owl opened an eye and closed it again when she saw that she wasn't the day's worker. Come back soon , she whispered and opened the window. The black bird rose to the sky with strong wing-beats. She closed the window and returned to the dying room.<p>

Come home, James. I've never realized how depending we were on mum's and dad's happiness. I'm not laying any guilt on you, I m just begging you to come home. A day or two before the new term would be enough. Just show your handsome face here and mum will stop tormenting dad. He doesn't defend himself against her words. He says she is right. This is breaking him, James, and mum too. They are both so worried about you. I and Al miss you.

James crumpled up the letter and put it back in his pocket. Typical his sister to fill him with guilt. Typical his sister to exaggerate. It couldn't be as bad as she wanted him to believe. His parents wouldn't react like that, especially not his father. And he was going to meet his brother and sister in a few days. They'll do without him because they had each other. He was sitting in the library, trying to do some homework. But it was hopeless because he couldn't stay focused. And then, unfortunately, Noble had showed up.  
>Ma and pa are in Sweden, seeking ice-lice or something, and grandpa is doing some research for a Christmas-article about... well, it doesn't matter. Why are you here? The words came out of his mouth like flowing water. It almost sounded like a song, up and down, but calmly. It got James on his nerves. He really didn't want to answer and Lorcan seemed to notice that because he didn't repeat the question. Do you mind? Before he could say that he did, Lorcan had sat down opposite to him, drawing one of his books toward him. Werewolves? Aren't you done with this yet? Of course I am, I'm just doing it again for fun. He snatched the book back from him, putting it down in his bag.<br>It's good that you talk , Lorcan said calmly, seeming to take no offense. You could do that assignment in a hurry, you know. Your dad knew that teacher-werewolf, so you could simply ask him about how he was like. And your uncle was bitten by one so - I know, thank you. He buttoned the bag and rose quickly. It's not good for you to be alone. To not have anyone to talk to. No, but who's Quincey talking to? Why don't you give him your concerns. I don't need them. It was a rude thing to say, but the weird thing was that he got that thought. Normally, he hadn't cared. He, and Quincey, would have driven Lorcan away minutes ago.  
>Can be a bit difficult , Lorcan said. I'll go to Hannah Longbottom then. I hope my company will please her. She's very alone, you know.<br>He had already left the library when he decided to try to talk to Longbottom. In some illogical way, the disaster had started when they teased her. So, if he told her he was sorry, even though he wasn't, maybe No, nothing would be better by that. But he felt that it was something he had to do. He didn't knew why, just that he couldn't get her blushing face off his mind. He caught up Noble on the second floor. I suppose I own her an apology. Noble looked surprised, but just a bit. You are , he confirmed and walked on.  
>Hannah Longbottom was waiting on the landing to the fourth floor.<br>We can sit here , Noble suggested. We're almost the only people here. And I like when the stairs move. James didn't object, though he had dozens of better proposals. Why aren't you at home? he asked her as he sat down two steps below. Doesn't your mother run the Hog's Head? She does. I don't want to drudge for her during my holiday. She paused, unsure of what to say to him. I visit her every day, of course. I've just come here to study. Longbottom gave him a withering gaze and blushed. James fidgeted and then rose, walking down the stairs as he said:  
>Bet you need any study time you can steal, huffed puffy. But don't listen to the lunarian. He'll huff you into lunatics. They both startled.<br>It was a joke , he explained. Wardle's the one doing thing's like that. I think it's ridiculous. No, because you're more simple than that. You just say 'whore' and think you're better than everyone else. He could hear Longbottom drew her breath at Noble's words. I'm not the one puffed up here, that's what Longbottom should be. They smiled, but Longbottom quite reservedly. I'm glad you're able to joke , Noble commented which immediately brought him into a bad mood. Merry Christmas. He ran down the stairs, aware that he hadn't told Longbottom or Noble he was sorry, so he shouted over his shoulder: Don't expect too much. When school starts again the Weasleys will have too much to think about to care about you. But you have to understand that you can't talk to me in front of others, or speak about me, because then I have to - Be as gruff as you wish , he heard Noble call out after him, especially in doors. He smiled before thinking of what he was doing. He halted out of sight with a filthy sense of shame, suddenly knowing what he should do. Not stay here, where he could be happy. No, go home for a while and try to influence the feelings he hadn't felt yet. Get away from this building and grieve for the loss of his friend in a place where he couldn't press down the sorrow. Taking the secret tunnel to the Shrieking Shack and then transfer home. He should just pack his things.  
>It was dark when he left the castle and crawled down below the Whomping Willow. He was going home and for the first time he wondered if he was welcome. Should his parents greet him with open arms or turn from him because of what had happened? Because of what he had said to his father, if not for his friendship to the criminal? He nearly turned in the tunnel. What if they didn't wanted him there, if they thought his appearance destroyed the Christmas?<p>

He would never get accustomed to the laughter. The screams, roars, sobs, wails, whines, groans, moans, pants, coughs, vomits, plaintive cries and howls became parts of the air he inhaled. They were no less nor more than the cold stone floor or the constant feeling of hunger and despair. The sounds of the other prisoners' pain admonished him to keep on fighting. But he was not sure of how long he could stand the Dementors presence. His father had died here. Perhaps in the same cell he now shared with horrid memories. Of course he couldn't know how his father had died, and still he experienced it in his dreams. When he was awake he often couldn't remember who he was. He felt his body and could think of his friends, but felt nothing for them.  
>The laughter. Of the mad men, the for ever broken women. Evil is destructiveness. Time lost worth and the only thing that mattered was not survival but victory. And that was not the same thing. He didn't want to get away, he had no thoughts of trying to escape. Because then he would have to live with the memories of this place, he had to live with the things he had heard and felt here. Everything was hid in darkness. There were smells. Of faeces, sweat and dirty earth. But the rank faded and what his nose took in was his smallest problem. It was always night. The only time people came into the building was to collect corps. They had been dead for a long time. And now their relatives buried their bodies. Well, not always. Bodies had rotten inside these walls.<br>The old woman in the cell next to his raved about plant diseases, but when he shouted to her to shut up she threw obscene accusations at him. He contended every day with her tirades in the back of his head. By her, he learned that his father was the son of the devil's bastard. And that his mother was a bitch, the daughter of a hussy, and that he would die all alone in his cell, with no one missing him. He threw himself toward the bars, but couldn't silence her.  
>The Dementors could. No one came for her body so she was simply tossed from the cliffs into the grey sea. He suspected. He hoped. She deserved that, at least. An endless night. Fear always nagged his consciousness and it grew to a strong horror when the Dementors visited his cell. They were always near, but as everything else with his captivity, he slowly learned how to live through it. Not that he could deal with the cold, hunger or tiredness. But compared with the Dementors, his physical suffering stood in the shadows. The warders enjoyed tormenting the prisoners, presumably because the point with their existence was giving humans kisses, to suck out their soles. But he didn't consider things in a logical or sensational way. He feared he was already mad, mumbling and cradling himself on the muddy stone floor.<br>He had witnessed his trial in a haze. Hadn't been able to focus on the questions. Lost in memories, he had been standing as an amoeba, dumb and deaf. Hadn't listened to the accusations. All he remembered now was an agonizing sorrow over the sudden knowledge that he was alone.  
>Water , he croaked though he knew it was futile.<br>Who was he? Who had he been? He couldn't recall names nor places or faces. He was nothing. A nothing who felt pain. Who couldn't wake up from devouring nightmares about all the things he'd fought so hard to forget. And then came one night when he couldn't remember what it had been like outside these walls. He couldn't recall if he had had any friends, or his parents' faces. All joy had been stolen from him. Every happy memory was now destroyed. He woke of his own screams when he slept, and although sleep was to prefer. He remembered his friends, but not what had tied them together. He remembered himself, but all he recalled was mistakes and sorrows.

Ginny awoke early on Christmas Eve, being in a cold sweat and more tired then she had been before she went to sleep. With her husband's face so close to her she could see the small wrinkles around his eyes and the few grey hair at his temples. In a few days he had grown older and it scared her, for he had seemed ageless until now. She reached her hand towards him to touch his pressed mouth, the contact light as a feather. He still woke up, his green eyes filling her with distress. They were empty, deprived of light and warmth. He seemed so lost and she longed to embrace him.  
>He was already getting out of bed without saying a word. She turned over and stared into the wall until he had left the room. Then she washed and dressed, but didn't go downstairs.<br>Guilt was the constant feeling, mixed with agitation. She was James' mother. A bad one, obviously, but still. And he had chosen to not return home. He didn't love her enough to even write. Her son, and she hardly knew him. He had become a stranger for her during the last year. They could talk about trivial things, but as soon as she reached further and tried to touch him, he drew back from her. Wounded her. And she had let it happen. This was the result of her failure. Her son shun his parents. She should be there for him, to solace him. She undressed and returned to the warmth in the bed. She didn't need to rise yet. She could sleep a little longer. Until Al and Lily had awaken. At least.

Al and Lily pattered into the kitchen and started to make breakfast. In the darkest spot at the table sat their father with a cup in his hands. Immovable like a statue. Lily had never seen him look so melancholy, beyond hope. He didn't seem to realize that he still had two of his children close. She drew nearer to him, and then threw all cautiousness away, flinging her arms around him. Daddy, I sent him a letter but he hasn't answered. Oh, daddy, what happened? Why - Lily! Albus exclaimed dismayed. Can't you think of anyone else? Can't you see that he doesn't want to talk about about it? Harry was stiff in her arms. When she released her grip, he left the room with a low:  
>Go out a while , at the doorstep. Albus attacked her furiously. Why? he demanded. Why do you always have to do everything worse? He rushed away and slammed the door behind him.<p>

Albus saw his father open the gate and disappear through it. Probably down the road to the hills. He shivered of cold and pulled up his hood, but that didn't help much, so he started to walk, letting faster streaming blood warm his body. White frost glittered on the rose-prickles in the sunrise. He hardly noticed the icicles hanging down the roof of the outhouse like an endless waterfall. He rushed by the stone walls who divided the blue garden into different sections and abruptly stopped when a though crossed his mind. What was he doing? He flew like a coward, tried to escape the problem like a creature runs away from the predator. He gave up the thought of a quiet time outside when the coldness drew him back. Home, well, it was at least inside. He took one of the back doors, the one leading right into the stair hall of the library, and wondered where his father was going. He drew a heavy book from one of the bookcases. It was Hogwarts: A History of Magic which Rose had given him last Christmas. She was the only one with as good grades as him, but until a year ago he had never read the book she spoke about so often. He had been deeply moved by the gift, for on the title side it clearly stood with small, flourish letters: Hermione Jane Granger and beneath it Rose had written her name busily: Rose Hermione Weasley. He smiled at the sight of his own name, not just because it looked so misplaced. He bore the name of the famous Potters: Lily Potter who offered her life to rescue her son, the well-known James Potter and The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, Potter who defeated Lord Voldemort. He was not worthy the name. And not his first or second name either. Dumbledore's name, the most famous headmaster of Hogwarts and his fathers Friend? Secret tutor? Protector? Counsellor? And Snape's name. The Half-Blood Prince. Uncle Ron had so many stories about that man. The man who had been secretly in love with his grandmother. Who had been a Death Eater, the direct cause to his grandparents dead. A double agent who betrayed Voldemort and saved Draco Malfoy from being a murderer. The names derided him. Albus Severus Potter.

Al had left his sister confused and offended. As usual, her youngest brother blamed her. When he felt sad he let all his anger swallow over her. He said he was sorry afterwards and she always received his apologies kindly. But it still hurt when he treated her like a child. And her father's selfish behaviour was even worse. He was not the only one who cared about James. Though no one in the family seemed to count her in. She was the youngest and could handle all that brought with it. But what she could not live with was her family's bullying manners. She was sure they meant no harm. Perhaps they did not even notice what they did when they asked her to leave the room or stopped talking when she entered. As if she was too stupid to hear what they said. As if she was not someone to trust. Like she was the one who needed to be protected from the world. But she was not the innocent, na ve girl they thought she was. She had not James' toughness or Al's braveness. Her brothers were both so clever, in different ways, and knew how to avoid the sort of problems she struggled with daily. James fought everyone who questioned him. Albus had shaped a character of himself: so skilfully done that no one could see through it. It was not a lie it really was the person Al was. But sometimes he went to extremisms. After his third year he had already read all the literature for the rest of his schooling and though Lily could not be sure he had done it because he wanted to be remembered for something he had done on his own instead of just being Harry Potter's son , she believed he probably had not studied so hard if he had not been a Potter. She did not know what to occupy herself with. She glanced at the clock which hang over the kitchen table. She was not even eight in the morning. It was not something odd with her mum still in bed. Just that Ginny used to be the one who got up earliest. Especially at Christmas when she often had everything ready when the others went downstairs. Ready before they went to the Weasleys.  
>On the morrow of his father's promotion, just at the beginning of the Christmas holidays, had his grandparents set up a party to celebrate. In sooth , his grandfather had said, this is a day of nexus. He hadn't understood what Lucius had meant but Narcissa and his father had nodded in concurrence. Master Scorpius, don't you begin your final year at Hogwarts after the summer? It had been one of his father's colleagues who had asked what he probably already knew the answer to.<br>Asteria, who had forbidden Scorpius to call her mother or mum or anything similar, had laid a light hand on his shoulder. Indeed he will. And what are you planning to do after graduating? The question came from the same stout man, ignoring that Asteria had talked over the head of her son, now waiting for the boy with the pale complexion to answer.  
>I'd like the Min - True to habit, Draco had kissed his wife's cheek before parting in the conversation, standing next to her, with his son on the other side. Scorpius was unsure, but it seemed as if the man's smile faded, and that he bent his head, if even so little, toward Draco.<br>I didn't know you were such a great plodder, Mr Tredgold , Draco said with a drawling voice.  
>The man had mumbled something and then withdrew behind a younger couple and disappeared in the crowd. Don't talk to him like you were equals, Scorpius , his father admonished him, his mother married a mud-blood. I didn't know, father. He pursed his lips, and if he could have seen himself, he would have been astonished of how much he looked like his long ago dead aunt Bellatrix. What is he even doing here? The mere thought of talking to such a man disgusted him.<br>He works on your father's department, Scorpius , Asteria said, it comes no good from talking about him like that in public. It was a dreadful party, so he wasn't surprised that everyone seemed to enjoy it. His parents advanced slowly around the great hall in his grandparents' enormous mansion. At last, he caught up with Lucius at the front door.  
>With your leave, Scorpius , and though the phrase was gently shaped, Scorpius knew his grandfather was perfectly serious, I have a task for you. Lucius fingered on the silver-top of the stick he kept his wand in. With his hair still reaching his shoulders did he look exactly as on the picture Scorpius had seen from when his father was young, except the greying hair and the more stooping carriage. Whatever you say. It's good, son, I know you'll never let us down. This, of course, didn't come from Lucius but from his wife Narcissa. He knew the story of how she had betrayed the Dark Lord to save her son, as a family secret had it been reviled to him on his fifteenth birthday, almost a year ago. He couldn't blame her for her action, without her cowardice wouldn't his father live, and therefore not he either, but since he'd learned the truth about the night when Lord Voldemort was defeated, he couldn't help to feel scornful when she appeared. Wasn't the most of the guilt for the Dark Lord's failure on her? And he wore her flesh and blood. But she wasn't a Malfoy, she was a Black, and though her sister Bellatrix had been a Death Eater had her other sister Nymphadora been a shame and disgrace to her family. No, he was proud of being a Malfoy. Like his father and grandfather, he was sure he was meant to do something important. Leave us, Narcissa. Lucius tone wasn't harsh, but impatient. A flash of pride flowed through Scorpius. Finally his grandfather found him worthy enough for this kind of trust!<br>Narcissa knew what her husband was going to say to their grandson so she left them and went to talk with some of the guests. Lucius followed her way through the room with his gaze, letting Scorpius eagerly wait for whatever he was going to tell him.  
>They left the building, Scorpius following on Lucius heels, stopping at the gate to the manners, after walking for at least five minutes. It was an intense cold and so dark that Scorpius hardly saw anything around him, but Lucius lit his wand so they could see each other.<br>I will give you information, and you will be my secret-keeper. Lucius looked intimately at Scorpius, whose eyes were wide open. You can help us complete what we began forty-one years ago. It took him a moment to understand what his grandfather talked about. But when he did, a smile spread over his face. How? Do you promise to do everything that is in your might to help us fulfill our mission? Of course he does. Asteria had sneaked up behind them, noiselessly on the wet grass. Scorpius saw how Lucius flinched before addressing his daughter-in-law. Maybe you d like to inform him, then? In the light of Lucius wand, Asteria s ivory skin flushed. She breathed heavily, and her sneer was sharper than ever. I would be delighted. And so she leaned towards her son, whispering eagerly in his ear.

James actually landed on his feet for the first time after a transference. He didn't stop to greet himself for that but hurried over the fields after he had crossed the icy river to the Potter's holding. In the light of early dawn he couldn't run as fast as he had wanted. Now when he was here he didn't want to lose any time. A quick visit, saying he was sorry, and then back to Hogwarts before noon meal. It was a perfect plan which would make everyone happy. He didn't want to destroy Christmas Eve by staying too long, so long that they could have a chance to fight. No, he should just say hello, exchange politeness and vanish. Nothing could go wrong.  
>Of course it could. His parents would probably not shower heap forgiveness upon their rude son. More likely, they would have a serious conversation with him , lecturing him up and warning him to never do such a thing again. Not punish him, they were not that sort of parents, but indeed see to it that he regretted his behavior. He stood behind the bare lilac bushes and wondered if he should take the pathway to the front door through the rose garden or if he should go around the snowdrifts in the vegetable patch and run over some resting flowerbeds to heave down at the window. And then, as the sun rose and the garden appeared in all its splendour, he clasped his forehead for being such a fool. It was Christmas Eve. His family had already gone to the Burrow. Well, now when he was here, he could likewise stay a short while. His family wasn't up this hour anyway, even though it was Christmas Eve.<br>So he took the fastest way and hurried through the hall to the cellar door.  
>He hesitated at the doorstep. Then he rebuked himself. He had known his whole life that his father had this relief in the cellar. He walked down the long stairs and fell to his knee, pressed his hand against the slab and the wall really opened out to show what looked like a stone font. He hadn't used it, though he had known what it was. Why Professor McGonagall had given it to his father so many years after Professor Dumbledore's death had he no idea of. But here it was, and he wanted to take the chance. He hurried to it and without taking any closer looks he stretched his arm down in it, touching the water-like substance with his fingers. As he did so, the world around him disappeared and he fell into another time. He stood in the living room of his parents' house. His father sat in the sofa with a little child in his knees, next to Uncle Ron who talked with great zest. His father didn't really seem to listen to Ron. All his attention was directed towards the baby who rested in his arms. What do you say? Ron looked expectantly at him. He has Ginny's eyes , he said enchantingly and caressed the infant over his smooth forehead. Ron gave up the subject with a sigh. Some would think you should have tired of that thing after five weeks. You don't do anything else but stare at him, like he would disappear if you didn't - Oh, Ron, you re so unfeeling! Hermione exclaimed, but Harry didn't seem to have heard Ron's words. Uncle Ron looked so embarrassed that James nearly burst out of laughter.<br>I... I didn't mean - Hermione shook her head at him and rose when Ginny called her, asking something about a spell to make soup boil faster. The view changed. A chubby child-James stretched his short arms in the air toward his father, who bend his knee so his face came straight in front of his son. Deer , the child pulled. James heart was on fire. He remembered this. With a laugh Harry let a silvery stag spring out of the top of his wand. The child clapped his hands enchantingly and then tried to catch the Patronus who after a gambol disappeared in a white puff.  
>Little James had grown older. He stood on a platform with his baggage, pale and nervous.<br>You write every day, right? His parents promised they would and said goodbye. He looked after them for a long time, even after the train had left the station and was surrounded by greenery hills. He squeezed his wand spasmodic. The world went dark and then he stood at the platform again, taller and skinnier. Not with his family this time but with Quincey, Roxanne and Roxanne. His face was harder, his gaze tougher. As an answer to his unutterable question he was taken back in time. Now he stood in his room at home, eyebrows raised and mouth scornfully smiling. A theatrical pose, well practiced. It's none of your business. A tone as if he was speaking to a child and not to his father. Of course it is 'my business'. I don't want you to show that young man any kind of friendliness. No. His father had never spoken these words. Was the memory fixed, changed, adjusted? His father would never have commanded him like this, and he had never forbidden his son to be a friend of Quincey.  
>When he abruptly returned from the memories was it with a feeling of guilt mixed with shame. His father had only had his son's best for his eyes; he had never wanted to split son and father apart. The last glimpse from the past was different. He didn't belong to that memory and yet, in some strange way, he maybe did. His father and mother sat close to each other on a blanket at a fire in a dark, cold room. She whispered something to him and they both smiled at it. They looked so young and James suspected this had been a long time ago, more than twenty, probably some years before he was born. They looked like they did at the photos from their schooling. It felt too intimate. The light made his mothers red hair sparkle and when his father lifted his hand to caress it, James turned away his gaze and started to look around. What was this place? Why had he landed in just this memory when there were so many others? The sparse furniture in the room was covered with dust and gossamer, but his parents didn't seem bothered by the fact that they were having their romantic tranquility in a house to be demolished.<br>What's the matter with you? His mother's unexpected shriek made him startled and then he hastily turned around to see what was happening. Harry's answer came stuttering, and James couldn't hear what he said. We're engaged, Harry, and we've been ever since my seventh birthday. How can you say a wedding would be wrong? I'm almost nineteen; I'm old enough to decide this by myself. I didn't say it was wrong. Harry spoke speedily, but still as low. I just Ginny, look where we are. I can't... We can't... We're here because we like this place, and we can leave any time. Stop worry. James almost shrank when he saw his father's expression. But the anger wasn't directed toward his mother. Don't pretend we can, Ginny. What sort of life would we have? James didn't understand anything at all. Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters were defeated. What enemy was his father talking about? A life like the one we're having now. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes dark. They both stood up now, far away from each other.  
>And you're not pleased with it. It was not a question. Ginny grasped for air. James knew her common wild temper, but he had never seen her this angry. When Harry whitened and hided behind a mask without any expression, Ginny made use of every feeling crossing her and shaped it to a sharp blade. You're the one not wanting to marry. The pain in her voice made James turn away from them. He didn't want to know more. Why had he followed this stupid idea, getting down here? This was a part of his parents history he didn't want to share. Oh, why didn't his father say something? Anything! He whirled around just in time to see his father's face went blank. Then, as he closed his eyes, he fell. Slowly, as if he was going to hit the floor gently. But it was a stair behind him, and Ginny's cry followed his body all the way down. James turned around at the very moment as his mother ran down, stumbling and crying down the steps, screaming his father's name, more falling after him then rescuing him.<br>First, James thought the man standing behind him was a ghost from the present. He thought it was a phantom from his own mind. Then he came closer and James saw it wasn't Quincey but someone very alike. His wand was still raised and his mouth still smiled. Coldly. He tried to cling fast to he memory but with no result he returned swiftly to the cellar. Feeling worse than ever. In hysteria he reached the ground floor and went on to the floor where the family's bedrooms were. At the extreme left in the long corridor he opened the door to his mothers working room and opened the cupboard in the corner. Once when he was a kid he had sneaked in here with Al. Their mother had rebuked them and made them promise to never poke among her private things again. And here he stood, breaking that promise.  
>But when he had been here he had seen thick folders with press cuttings. Not really scrapbooks because they had been too messy. And there, among articles about everything between Ginny's travel to Egypt with her family as a child and copies of Mr Lovegood's paper, Lorcan Noble's grandfather, did he find it. A first page telling in big, black letters:<p>

BOWMAKER MADE HIS BOW ALMOST KILLED THE BOY WHO LIVED

Naomi woke late on Christmas Eve when her mother knocked on the door. Time to dress, young lady. The guests will be here any minute. Typical her mother to not wake her earlier. Typical her mother to invite a lot of people on Christmas, people nor she or her father knew. But on the other hand, her father maybe wasn't home. Typical him to be absent on Christmas. Is Drake coming? she wanted to ask, but knew better. So she took a quick shower and gaped over the clothes her mother had hung over her chair. A creased skirt who would reach her ankles and a cardigan in the same grey colour. No way. Never ever. She took the jeans and shirt from yesterday. They weren't completely clean but at least they didn't make he look like a middle-aged governor. Miss. Untidy , her mother received her as she went into the hall. The old woman stood just inside the front door with a gallows ready in her hands to take the first person's coat. She glanced at her daughter above her big spectacles. I am very glad you are here. Naomi repaid her tense smile and then the bell rang and her mother quickly opened. Couple after couple arrived with cheek-kisses and valued looks. Dry jokes exchanged. Oh, isn't it Naomi? What a beauty. Exactly as her mother, don't you think? What do you read? But no one asked where Drake or her father where. I read Eh... Science. Well, potions, art of divination and transformation were a sort of science, wasn't they? So exciting. And then they didn't asked any more, because they had already lost their interest. She cast a look in the hall-mirror before she followed the others into the living room. She looked terrible. Her locks weren't dry but stretched, lankly. Her eyes screwed up. How could her mother not have seen her sorrow when it was so clearly written all over her? Because they were strangers to each other, that was the answer.  
>A slender girl reflected in the mirror glass, but Naomi didn't feel for being friendly. The girl had been sent to her, of that she was sure. She could hear the adults in the background as the girl asked, well articulately: Won't you come? She knew what kind of person the teenager behind her was. A flimsy strapless dress with the colour of apricot. Groomed and well-mannered. Big, innocent eyes, perfect carriage and deportment. The sort of girl who filled her with uncertainty. Another girl joined the snowy one. The same sort. Though she was not skinny but bony. She looked as if she would starve to death any second. Donna think so. She saw them exchange glances but still did not move. To be honest , the first one continued, your mother requested us to occupy ourselves with you. She giggled as if she had said something amusing. The skeleton at her shoulder ogled at the door to the living room. Naomi decided to direct her pain towards her. Very well. Come closer. I won't bite you. Apricot giggled louder and they both took the few steps to her. Naomi turned and faced them, touching the wand in her pocket, just to calm herself. So, what shall we do? Apricot asked and tried to play bored. We'll... The bell rang and immediately her mother rushed into the hall. Do you have it nice? she asked the girls as she opened the door. Mrs Hart? A voice she recognized, and still not. It was darker and not so raspy as the one she so often had heard in her head the last days. She was sure she had heard it before.<br>Yes, sir. How can I help you? Naomi heard the reservation in her mothers voice and understood that the man's name didn't stood on the guest list.  
>I'm sorry to interfere at Christmas, Mrs. Hart. But may I just have a word with your daughter? A chocked silence followed. Then her mother began to close the door.<br>You sick man. Do not ever dare to come here again! No! Please, ma'am, it's not as you think. She didn't close the door entirely. I'm from your daughter's school. I promise, it will just take a minute. Her mother cast a glimpse at the girls and then on Naomi. Has my daughter done something so badly that it can't wait until she's back at school, mister? Do you have to talk about it on Christmas Eve? Oh, how she wished she could see the man. It wasn't one of her teachers, so who could it be?  
>She hasn't done anything wrong , the emotional voice assured. Then it can wait, sir , her mother decided. No good manners at your school , she said as she closed the door. He couldn't even introduce himself. She returned to the living room, already telling her guests about the beggar who had knocked on their door, and Apricot and Skeleton followed her. Naomi hesitated, but only for a second. She flung the door open and closed it behind her. Standing on the platform she was a head higher than the man standing on the gravel walk. Ms. Hart? The sudden hope in his voice touched her. And then she saw who it was. His picture was in their history books for God's sake! I'm afraid I wasn't any good example for the wizardry world. Your mother is a Muggle, right? He smiled at her and for the first time in her life she stood mute. Do you have any objections against a short walk? Of course he had forgotten to introduce himself. The backside of fame, that he took for granted that everyone knew who he was, and that it therefore was unnecessary to tell people his name, when everyone already knew. She cleared her throat. With you? she asked stupidly. The unreal situation made her dizzy. Why not? Some amusement in his voice?<br>But haven't you anything better to do on Christmas Eve than be here, with me? The smile disappeared from his face and she could have bitten of her tongue. His shoulders sank and he looked as confused as she felt. I mean... She jumped down to the ground and started to walk to the street. He followed and soon caught her up. I hope your friend is all right , he finally said when they had left the block and crossed a neglected park. She only heard real care and sincerity in his voice.  
>He's better , she answered evasively. Her fingers instinctively found the silver-snake around her neck.<br>And how is your son? A question of politeness. Nothing strange at all. She didn't dare to mention Bowmaker's name. The Boy Who Lived stopped. I haven't seen him since the interrogation. She had no idea why he told her this. Did he blame her? I wonder if you have seen him? It was her turn to startle. Did Harry Potter though his son was a friend of her? Why? Not since the interrogation, Mr. She repeated his words and in her ears the sentence sounded like a question. His shoulders sunk even lower. Then I apology for bringing you from the party. Goodbye, Ms. Hart. And Merry Christmas. And there he went. The Chosen One. Her life's chance. Her only opportunity to talk with the celebrity. The legend she'd read so much about. Soon he would be gone. Wait! He turned nimbly. Yes? Why do you ask me this? I've never been a friend of James. I'm in Slytherin. The last confession made her ashamed. Strange, she had always been proud of being one of the sly. Why don't you ask his friends? Ms and Ms Weasley surely know. I already have. Of course he had. He was no fool. Was he offended now? Probably. He had beaten Lord Voldemort! And she had asked him such a stupid question.  
>The girls inside, are they friends of yours? Confusion. Why did he ask? It was a private thing. No , she heard herself mutter. But they would notice if you disappeared. I guess so. I'm a part of the furniture. And so I wonder if you, as one of many others at Hogwarts, maybe have seen something. In the corridors or heard from someone who heard from someone any clue to why my son won't come home. Why he's still at school. I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but I have no idea. She felt so sorry for him. Then a memory stroke her.<br>At the interrogation , she began and killed all misgivings, James said you wanted him to be like your father. He said so, yes , Potter agreed, but gave her a warning look. What would your father have done? Silence.  
>She swallowed. What would James think that his grandfather would have done? Harry knot his brows. How am I supposed to know? he muttered, I grew up with Muggles, you know. But ...gone to Azkaban? Confronted the Ministry? Finally talked to me? I think he'll come home sooner or later. It was just an empty consolation. But Harry looked as if she had given him the greatest gift of all.<br>Thank you, Ms. Hart. And Merry Christmas. Before she reached to reply his greeting had he transferred away and she stood alone in the park. She walked home slowly, and first when she had her hand on the knob she reflected over that the conversation had drawn her thoughts from Scabiour.  
>There you are. Her mother crossed her arms over her chest. Drake just called. But I warn you, we will talk about that teacher of yours before you return to your school. She didn't believe her ears. You mean I can leave? I don't have to stay here with Go. Her mother's formal carriage softened. And have fun. Thank you, mother. She almost flung her arms around the trim woman. But she had already returned to her guests. So she went to the pub, where she knew Drake would hang.<br>Ninny , Jack greeted her warmly, sweetheart. She laughed and fell down on a chair at their table, studying the others. She didn't recognized anyone but Jack and Dave, so she guessed the others just had came together because they all were out tonight. She liked that. To talk to people she didn't have to meet the next day. To say whatever she wanted without having to be confronted or explain herself afterward. Drake will be here any minute , Jack assured her, so she relaxed and turned to a red-haired girl who just had arrived to the table.  
>The pub teemed with teenagers who were too poor to visit a more comfortable place, like the warm bars or lively clubs down street.<br>Naomi sat in the middle of the dusky room, whirling an empty glass over the worn table. The red-haired girl asked how her term had been.  
>Like hell , she answered honestly and stopped the glass' motion. The buxom girl who had addressed her left her own table and sat down beside Naomi. Tell me about it. She gave a deep sigh and her bad breath, stained with cigarette smoke and cheap beer, suddenly made Naomi feel sick. Not that I've been to school so much this year, though. She showed her teeth in a wide grin. Which school are you at? Naomi's practiced lie held once again. A public school in Scotland. Cause my dad can't handle me'. The stranger snorted which made a curly boy turn. I escaped , he told and put his head on one side. Ever tried? Naomi raised her brows. And what are you doing now? He hesitated and then: Works , he said diffused. Naomi shook her head and thought about leaving the table for another one when a boy entered with a cold breath of wind.<br>Naomi! He stalked toward her, getting a lot of gazes because of his loud voice. What are you doing here? Dying of a broken heart. It was meant as a joke, but her voice betrayed her. The plumped girl leaned closer. Who's he? she asked whispering, and Naomi answered her hastily before she rose and started to put on her cloak.  
>I didn't mean to fright you away , Drake assured as the same time as the girl begged: Please stay, Naomi. The evening is so long and I'm so alone. Don't leave me here. Naomi thought the girl pathetic. Had things been as they used to, she had been leaving long ago. But now she really didn't want to return to her parents' house. I suppose I can stay a short while , she agreed and sat down again. The girl had already asked the bartender of replenishment. Drake went looking for a chair and the others continued their conversations. I'm Katrina. But we don't have to shake hands on that. Naomi swept the liquor and grimaced. What was that? Piss? She's not really house-trained, my sister. Drake had finally found a stool which he sat down on at the table. He grinned toward Katrina and Naomi knew what his next line would be: something about traveling. Guess she doesn't need to be, almost living in the street as she does. That's why she'll enjoy our visit to New York. Ever been there, Katrina? Oh, yes no, I mean, no I've never been there. Katrina wasn't the girl who flushed. Instead, her voice was faltering and her face had stiffened to an uncertain smile.<br>Naomi stopped listening when Drake started to talk about the trip they were going to do this summer, when she had finished school, and let her eyes wander. She swallowed the rest of the drink and got interested in an act between two people. A young man had stared at a girl for the last ten minutes. He didn't move his eyes but fixed her with them. When she rose and walked toward his table she didn't let go of his face. His friends welcomed the girl and then continued to talk about some new computer. It's been a while , the slender-limbed man said with regret.  
>The girl nodded. I've been in Wales , she reminded him. And you ve got a new boyfriend. His lips whitened. Sarah, I thought I meant something to you. We've been waiting here for days , one of the man's friends put in. So foolishly of you , she bit off. Matt, I told you it was over. You can't - Leave. Matthew s friends drew quietly back to the bar disk. Sarah, please , he said, trying to make his voice sound softer. I want you. Naomi had to fight back the tears who threatened to spring down her cheeks. The girl looked untouched, like Naomi surely had done in the same kind of situations before. Why did these strangers drama affect her so deeply?<br>Matt, listen. I've a boyfriend, as you said. It never was something serious between us. Two months, Matt. He lifted his hand and Naomi though he was going to slap the girl, but he lowered it again and with that move his head followed. I thought I meant something to you , he repeated, helpless like a child. Matt. Goodbye. He had been as a pass time for her. Naomi could imagine how it had been. They had talked a few evenings and the boy had taken it more seriously than the girl ever had meant it to be. She felt sorry for him. Ninny, are you all right? So embarrassing. Her brother hadn't seen her cry since they were six. He didn't sound teasing, but with him, nothing was for sure. Too much to drink. Katrina had no success with playing care. Alcohol has never affected her like this , he said loudly, and all his interest for Katrina was gone. He helped Naomi on her feet and buttoned up her coat. Naomi still sobbed when Drake lead her out into the cold night. Small snowflakes fell gently from the starred sky and even now Naomi found a little grief in how beautiful these well-known blocks were. Shall I take you home? Or to my place, thought Jack and Dave will probably be there. She just shook her head and tried to breathe. Oh, how to make the tears stop falling once they had started? I'm sorry about your boyfriend... Neil, wasn't it? She shook her head again and leaned toward him, putting her head on his shoulder. He stiffened and then embraced her cautiously. What have you done to my tough twin? Eaten her? He hugged her harder and then released her, taking some steps away from her. They started to walk and the tears froze or her cheeks. Drake talked, asked her about the weird wizardry school (have you any aqua vitae for me yet? No? May I see your stick? Can't you do some magic with it? That would be so cool. Not? Forbidden? Oh great, so they gave you a peg but you re not allowed to use it? Hmm. Do you want a cig? Not? Okay) and so on until they had reached the villa of their parents.  
>I better go before they see me. And he disappeared, hurrying down the street, back to the streets were music still played. Her mother opened before she knocked. She had probably seen when both she and Drake came. She was dressed in a honey-coloured shirt blouse and a dark-brown waist slip. Her grey hair was arranged into loose curls and her fingers started as she spoke.<br>You look terrible. And you stink. Take the back door. Yes, mother. The door closed and she sneaked through the little garden to not waken the neighbours. She wondered why her mother had been dressed up this time at night. She locked the door to her girl room and undressed. Her mother had placed a plate with fruit, biscuits, cheese and water on her desk. She turned from the food with disgust.  
>Another Christmas had passed. <p>


End file.
